


Clattering Feet

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [33]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 15:54:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2434490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were all aware that this would be their last time together in this form, this singular group who had joined together to learn blatant insanity at his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clattering Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Betabetabeta -- awesomely done by Norcumi & writestufflee, with Merry Amelie's incoming.
> 
> _________________________________
> 
> Yes, I am way behind on comments and MOST THINGS RIGHT NOW, but dammit, I managed to finish this chapter in time for a Friday update.

Republic Date 5201: 4/28th

The Cathedral, Entrios

 

Master Tholme met them out in the snow, watching in silence as both sets of Council representatives disembarked from the transport. Adi grimaced when the cold struck her, huddling further into her borrowed jacket. She was spoiled rotten if her first response to chilly temperatures was to wish to turn and bolt right back into the ship.

“I think Hoth might actually be warmer than this,” Anakin mumbled, wrinkling his nose, which had turned red with alarming speed. “Also, my snot just froze.”

Adi grinned. The frank appraisal of Entrios lifted her spirits. “Mine, too.”

[Stop talking about snot!] Raallandirr grumbled, stepping out into the snow before anyone else and trudging along the broken path to the door.

“Is she all right?” Micah asked Qui-Gon in a soft voice.

“She’s been in an irritable mood for several days now, but nothing she is yet willing to talk about.”

“She’ll be fine,” Anakin said, shrugging before he jumped into the broken trail that led to the Cathedral.

“The Padawans are making us look bad,” Plo Koon murmured before joining Anakin. Adi stepped into the trail after him, followed by Mace, Boda MonMassa, and Micah. Yoda and Yaddle unashamedly hitched rides on their much taller companions. Qui-Gon was unconcerned by his troll-shaped addition, but Saesee Tiin just seemed resigned to the inevitable.

Boda MonMassa greeted Tholme first. “I am surprised it’s you waitingto meet us.”

Tholme’s lip curled up in a faint smirk. “The others are all playing, ‘Kill the Sith.’”

“And how is _that_ going?” Mace asked, eyes narrowing.

“Ehhh.” Tholme held out his hand and rocked it back and forth. “Depends upon the day, really. Might as well come and watch. They’re not going to stop until someone manages to tag Kenobi.”

“They could be busy for another five seconds, or the next sixteen hours,” Micah said to Adi. “C’mon, this’ll be fun.”

“Micah, your definition of ‘fun’ has always involved bodily injury,” Adi retorted in a mild voice. She followed the others inside, sighing in pleased relief as intense cold gave way to temperate warmth.

Their Shadows’ game was a furious blur of activity in the center of the room—at least for the first few moments. So many lightsabers were concentrated in such a small area that Adi was having trouble picking out individuals.

Obi-Wan all but bulldozed his way out of the cluster of Shadows, gaining much needed ground. Jaime Grierseer flew up into the air from the force of what had to have been a telekinetic blow, but she corrected herself and came down on her feet, hand out to balance herself, lightsaber still engaged.

“Good recovery, kiddo,” Micah said in undertone.

“Why the dual lightsabers?” Plo Koon asked, while Adi followed the path of the twin green blades Obi-Wan held. Quinlan Vos was the first to re-engage the fight in a ferocious spar. Obi-Wan seemed amused by Quinlan’s intensity; there was a wide, predatory smile on his face.

“He built them a few weeks ago,” MonMassa answered. “It was an interesting addition to these particular bouts.”

“Oh, nicely done,” Mace said, when Obi-Wan twisted the two lightsabers together, turning the blades into a damned staff. Adi felt her eyes widen at the unexpected shift in combat. Quinlan was forced to retreat until Brek Fa’an and Ni-Dia Kurri joined him in the melee.

[That looks like fun,] Rillian said in a considering tone.

“No, Padawan.” Qui-Gon draped his arm over Rillian’s shoulders, as if sensing the dissatisfaction his answer caused. “Perhaps later.”

Adi’s own Padawan revealed herself by appearing in thin air above the fight, lightsaber point down as she fell towards Obi-Wan. There was only a single second to respond, but Obi-Wan performed a sly maneuver that meant Ni-Dia was beneath Siri’s blade, instead. The Cerean Master swore a blue streak, stepping back and out of the fight with a long burn decorating the sleeve of her tunic.

“Distraction,” Anakin muttered. Adi glanced down to find him watching the fight with eyes that seemed both very alert, and very _adult._

She looked back just as Breegin Bo decloaked, flinging knife after knife directly into the fight. Obi-Wan raised his left arm in an instinctive protective gesture. In between one blink and the next, Skaalka appeared next to Obi-Wan and slugged him directly in the jaw with her massive fist. Adi cringed at the strength of the blow, which rocked Obi-Wan’s head to the side even as he fell to the floor.

“Tag!” Skaalka roared, laughing. “I win.”

“I’m not sure that counts as a tag,” Tholme said in a dry voice. “More of a flattening, Skaalka.”

“He’s not down,” Qui-Gon murmured.

Adi wasn’t sure what he meant until her eyes went back to the spot where Obi-Wan had fallen, only to find that he wasn’t there. “Where did he—” she started to ask, and then felt heat at her back just before there was a knife at her throat. Adi froze, cold metal on her skin and warm breath on her neck. The smell of ozone was strong, and the sense of barely restrained predator was making her skin crawl.

“Idiots,” Venge said in a conversational tone. “Now I have a hostage.”

“I really do not wish to be a hostage,” Adi said, far too aware of the sharp edge of the knife, parting skin just enough to burn but not yet draw blood.

“Too bad,” Venge replied, and then there was a whisper at her ear, one only she would hear. “You are field-rusty, Master Gallia.”

Adi felt her heart skip a beat. Gods, he was right. Sith trickery or not, she had been caught far too easily.

“They’re not even part of the game!” Breegin yelled in protest.

“I should not still be repeating myself: _There are no fucking rules._ ” Venge paused. “Are there, Vos?”

Adi couldn’t see Quinlan, but Siri was grinning, and Ni-Dia developed an air of quiet pleasure. “Nope!” Quinlan said from behind Adi. The knife at her throat vanished, and the warmth at her back diminished as Venge stepped away.

Adi turned to find Venge standing with his hands up, an expression of dark amusement on his face. Quinlan was twirling a dagger lazily in his right hand, its silver edge touched by red.

The knife Venge held disappeared into his sleeve, and he lowered his hands. “That was a proper tag,” he said. “Infusing the blade with a paralytic instead of a toxin is an interesting choice.”

“Yeah, but you’re still standing,” Quinlan noted.

“I assumed you were going for intent and not…” Venge trailed off when Quinlan shook his head. “Huh. You’re going to need a stronger dose than that.”

“Hi, Master,” Anakin said, gazing up at Venge. “Are you all right?”

Venge hesitated, bent over, and spat blood onto the floor. He straightened while rubbing his jaw. “She hits damned hard,” he said, which made Skaalka laugh again.

Adi noticed only because she was looking for it. Venge met Qui-Gon’s eyes for a brief moment. Neither of them said a word aloud, but Adi could feel an undercurrent of silent communication, and she didn’t think a single bit of it was telepathic in nature.

“Hello, Kenobi,” MonMassa said. “Where the hell are the rest of my Shadows?”

“Korriban.”

From the ripple of surprise and unease, that was not an expected answer. MonMassa looked pained. “Can you please tell me _why_ three of my Shadows have gone to that Sith pit?”

“Gyre,” Venge said, pretending not to notice when Rillian sidled up next to him and leaned against his side. “He came out of the Chamber of Trial with the awareness that his focus should be less devoted to direct hunting, and more towards coming to a fuller understanding of existing Sith technology. If it is out there, chances are high that Sidious could employ it against us. Most of Korriban is…trap-laden, but Zannah knew of a small cache that will be the least dangerous to access. Knight Herssella and Greegor Bo accompanied him, as it is best not to go anywhere on that planet alone.”

Plo crossed his arms, his posture concerned and wary. “And you trust that she is not sending them into a trap?”

“I don’t trust her at all,” Venge returned. “I _promised_ her that if they came to harm, I would go to Korriban myself and rip her entire monument apart before then doing the same to her.” Venge paused, tilting his head, eyes flickering around as he catalogued individual responses. The feeling of rage—of being pinned and dissected—was not as intense as it had been before, but Adi was chilled by it, nonetheless. “She seemed pleased by that arrangement.”

“That is not the sort of ultimatum a Jedi should issue,” Yaddle groused.

Venge looked annoyed. “In case it has escaped your notice, I am not capable of that mindset right now. You are fortunate that you deal with someone who is struggling to remain in the middle of the spectrum.”

“Are you, Obi-Wan?” Yoda asked. He’d shed his heavy winter cloak, tapping his gimer stick on the floor as he looked up at Venge. “Still in the middle, are you?”

Venge stared back. There was a flash of emotion in his eyes, something that looked disturbingly like fear. Then it was gone, and only burning amber and anger remained. “Close enough.”

 

*          *          *          *

Venge took Qui-Gon and the Padawans to two of the Posh Line rooms closest to what was left of his own. The Council groups were ostensibly staying overnight in the Cathedral for the assessment, and would return to Coruscant in the morning.

Qui-Gon waved a hand, motioning for the Padawans to remain in their room, before allowing Venge to show him to his own temporary quarters. “Am I not sleeping with you?” he asked in a mild voice.

Venge made a face. “There is no place in my room _to_ sleep, not unless you are very fond of the floor.” He surprised Qui-Gon by walking forward and resting his forehead against Qui-Gon’s chest.

Qui-Gon placed his hands on Venge’s shoulders, concerned by the fluttering muscles beneath his hands that betrayed nerves and tension in equal, obscene quantity. “How bad is it?”

He heard what sounded, suspiciously, like a choked back sob. “Bad enough,” Venge answered.

Qui-Gon didn’t bother with verbal reassurances. Venge would not be inclined to appreciate what would amount to useless platitudes at this point. Instead, he placed his fingers under Venge’s chin, lifted his head, and kissed him. It wasn’t a deep or passionate kiss, just the brush of warm lips together, the faintest hint of wetness. It was soothing promise, the only sort of vow Qui-Gon knew how to give at the moment.

Venge tasted of ozone now, as well. Qui-Gon made mention of it; Venge uttered a faint laugh and said, “Well, at least I do not taste of rot.”

“You say the most romantic things to me,” Qui-Gon replied, deadpan, and was heartened when the remark earned him a faint, genuine smile.

Venge gave Qui-Gon a gentle shove to get him to sit on the bed and then joined him, close enough at his side that their shoulders pressed together. “I will tell you this here, first, so that you do not hear it during the upcoming recitation of recent events. I had a seizure two days ago.”

Qui-Gon drew in a breath and centered himself. He refused to panic. He had been paying closer attention to the Healers’ reports, translating them with effort, and knew it had been a possibility. “What do I need to know?”

“Abella wishes to review procedure with you this evening, to be certain you know what to do if I…if it happens again.”

 _When it happens again,_ Qui-Gon heard.

“She is traveling with us, by the way,” Venge added. “Abella refuses to let me out of her sight at this juncture.”

That was somewhat reassuring. “As long as you don’t set her on fire,” Qui-Gon said.

“Hm.” Venge didn’t seem amused, which made Qui-Gon regret his words.

Qui-Gon placed his hand over Venge’s, where it rested on his thigh. There were faint green lines on his skin—it was not hard to see that the pattern was reminiscent of shattering ice. “I thought you were hiding these?”

“I am.” Venge’s smile was bitter. “Some of them show through the Force Illusion. They are visible no matter what I do.”

“Ah.” Qui-Gon knew he was venturing into dangerous territory. “If I asked you to show me the full extent of the damage, would you?”

“I would if you asked,” Venge said, head bowing. His hair had grown so long that it fell forward to hide most of his face from view. “Please do not ask me to do so.”

“Then I will not ask,” Qui-Gon said, and knew he was not imagining Venge’s immediate relief. “I just wish to know why.”

Venge lifted his head. Qui-Gon could not resist reaching out to brush his hair back. The long strands felt too dry, but Venge was still producing so much heat that it wasn’t much of a surprise.

“I…this is bad enough,” Venge said, with a half-hearted gesture at his eyes. “But the rest—I don’t want you to see me that way. I don’t want you to _remember_ me that way.”

“That wouldn’t matter to me.” Qui-Gon tightened his grip on Obi-Wan’s hand.

“Maybe not,” Venge said, “but it matters to me.” He paused, tilting his head as he regarded Qui-Gon. “You are…handling this remarkably well.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “I think, at this stage, that one of us needs to remain calm and be relatively stable. Given that you are not…”

“Ah.” Venge nodded. “That is…sensible.”

There was a knock on the doorframe. They both glanced up to find Tholme standing there; the Padawans were lurking behind him. “Everyone is settled in and ready to begin,” he said. “Are you ready for this?”

“You mean, am I going to be capable of getting through this without breaking anyone?” Venge countered.

Tholme shrugged, unconcerned. “Some of them could use a little breaking, I think.”

“That thought is far more entertaining than it should be,” Venge murmured, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath, let it out, and opened his eyes. The glow was significantly less, not even strong enough to cast light over his cheekbones.

“Compartmentalization?” Qui-Gon asked, curious.

“Of a sort.” Venge lifted Qui-Gon’s hand and kissed the edge of his knuckles before releasing him. “Come; it is time for you to be a sober, responsible Councilor…or at least pretend to be.”

“And what are you going to be, then?”

Venge smiled. “Myself,” he said, which drew snickers from Anakin and Rillian.

 

*          *          *          *

 

The combined Councils met in the cathedral. Venge suspected there might have been protest about staging a meeting on a durasteel floor, but he didn’t care. He and Tholme had looked at the lecture hall as a possibility, but the idea of being in such a confined space while surrounded by ten Jedi Masters, two Healers, and seven Shadows was just too much for his stressed senses to handle.

They sat in a large double circle: the visiting members of the High Council and Reconciliation Council made up the inner circle, while the Shadows, Tholme, and the Padawans (who sat together) settled between each Council member, slightly behind them, to make up the outer circle. It was a touch unsettling that Depa Billaba had chosen to absent herself, but perhaps her parting with the Council was still too raw a wound.

The two remaining Healers did not join either circle, either. They perched together, side by side, on one of the new shipping crates full of supplies yet to be offloaded.

It was not a surprise that Qui-Gon sat next to him, as the next link in the circle. The proximity of his mate was welcome, but the presence of Yoda at Venge’s opposite side just made him feel as if he was being taunted by a multitude of prickly feathers.

Venge set aside his notice of the irritant and settled into proper lotus, his back ramrod straight. It made aching muscles scream in protest, but it was a mindset that he needed here, not comfort.

He would _not_ have been comfortable, regardless. Even though he was ostensibly among allies, he could feel eyes and Force senses locked onto him. Evaluation, calculation, concern—it grated on him as much as it amused him. If something were to go wrong, Venge had an easy escape route. The lights of the great room were partially broken, and Qui-Gon Jinn cast a long shadow.

“In deference to the fact that this is MonMassa’s facility, the Master of Shadows will lead this…” Mace hesitated. “I don’t want to call it an inquiry, because it is not.”

“Inquiry would imply some form of punishment, and that is not why we are here,” MonMassa said, taking up the thread. “But before we discuss anything else, I want to hear from those present what they experienced in the four minute span from Dravaco’s attack on Grierseer and Fieff until his death.”

“I would also like to know if anyone sensed anything amiss before those events began,” Saesee Tiin put in.

The Shadows and Tholme collectively shook their heads, or murmured negatives. Venge thought about the dream of breaking, crumbling footing he had experienced just before the incident, but said nothing. If it had been a warning from the Force, it had not been precise enough to gain his attention.

Grierseer began the recitation, recounting what she and Fieff had been discussing when Dravaco had entered her room. Venge tuned out most of the narrative, known to him already, in favor of watching the reactions of those surrounding him. Each Shadow gave their impression of those first two minutes, before the first group had emerged into the cathedral just in time to witness Fieff’s death.

Tachi had been the first of those in the Central corridor to recognize that something was off. She’d chosen retrieving Venge over alerting the others, though even with Force-enhanced speed, it had still eaten time to go from Central to the Posh Line.

“Do you think that was the best decision?” Yaddle asked Tachi, her tiny features set in stern lines.

“I think we might have wound up with more bodies if I hadn’t,” Tachi replied, and then bit her lip. “There were still too many.”

“And then there was Vos, who ran straight into trouble,” Micah said, smiling to take the sting out of a potential rebuke.

“I’m good at it,” Vos said, unoffended. “Besides, it’s not like I was unaware of the danger. The problem is that I wasn’t expecting the source of it to be _Dravaco._ We all thought that if anyone was going to lose their shit in such an epic manner, it was probably going to be Kenobi.”

Venge lifted a brow as the focus momentarily returned to him. “It is not an unreasonable assumption to have made. Also, given the…the intensity of what Dravaco created in the Force, it is possible that Vos would have been unable to discern to the source. He would have been right in the middle of it, and that can be overwhelming.”

MonMassa nodded. “Fair enough. Vos, I understand you were almost one of the fatalities.”

Vos grimaced. “We may tease Skaalka about hitting hard, but Dravaco did a good job of outdoing her. The strike in to my chest broke half my damn ribs, and shoved bone fragments into my lungs and heart. Kenobi saved my ass, but I don’t recommend being in that situation for any sort of repeat performance. Sith healing, it…” He paused. “Hey, what’s that word Muln uses?”

“Sucked,” Anakin supplied.

“Yeah. It sucked,” Vos finished.

“Fieff hid Grierseer beneath a Force Illusion that portrayed her as a corpse, else we would likely have five casualties,” Venge said. He wanted that recognition for Fieff’s accomplishment out in the open, in a formal setting, where it was undeniable that the skill had merit. Force Illusion needed to be embraced by the Order, to be studied, or practitioners like Sidious would be able to use it against them.

“Xavery and the rest of our observers were able to witness the Illusion in action,” MonMassa said.

“It was…effective, I will admit,” Tiin admitted grudgingly.

“Where is Tkee?” Venge asked. He had earlier noted the Padawan’s absence, though he had still been in the middle of a duel.

“She is aboard the _Polysemy,_ monitoring the Cathedral from orbit in case of mishap,” MonMassa explained. “I see no reason to end our precautions until these sessions are formally closed.” She smiled at him, more a baring of teeth than anything else. “You desperately want to meet her, don’t you?”

“A bit.” Venge smiled back in deliberate mimicry. “She is charming.”

“You cannot have my Padawan, Kenobi,” MonMassa retorted.

Venge blinked his innocence. “I have two and a half Padawans already. I do not need another.”

“Half of a Padawan?” Plo Koon chuckled, the sound echoing within his mask. “How does one manage that?”

Venge turned his head just enough to see Rillian. “Joint custody,” he said, which made Rillian beam. The simplest things made his mate’s Padawan astoundingly happy.

“Returning to the matter at hand,” MonMassa said. “We were all able to witness Fieff’s duel with Dravaco on the monitors, and its…unfortunate end.”

“And we have Fieff’s discorporation, recorded from multiple points.” Micah was shaking his head. “I knew it was possible, and still it’s just…it’s fucking amazing.”

 _Gee, thanks a lot,_ Fieff grumbled. _I’m glad my death was so fucking enlightening._

It was with intense glee that Venge noted Qui-Gon, Anakin, Rillian, Micah, Adi, Mace, and Yoda all displayed varying forms of surprise at the sound of Fieff’s voice. “Oh, dear,” Venge said, exchanging a smug look with Grierseer. “Did I not mention that Fieff was still here?”

“Er, sorry,” Micah said, while those who could not hear Fieff glanced around in abject confusion. “Not quite what I meant.”

“What the hell is going on?” Fa’an was indignant. “What do you mean, Fieff’s still here?”

“Wait,” Venge said. “Fieff?”

_It’s just temporary, right? I don’t turn into a permanent Force nightlight?_

“No.” Venge was entertained by the idea, given he had seen Force ghosts do that very thing.

_Go for it, then. Just try not to fry me in the process, okay? I like being sane, unlike that electrical disturbance masquerading as a dead Jedi._

Venge lifted his right hand, calling the energy forth with but a thought. Directing it in a calm fashion was the tricky part, given that he had simply flooded Dravaco’s spirit with a raging torrent until he had become visible to everyone.

Colm Fieff flickered into existence, a transparent blue form emitting a faint glow. Venge frowned, keeping the energy at a controlled trickle, until he had seen a reaction to Fieff’s emerging appearance on all faces.

“I’ll be damned,” Kurri whispered, a sentiment echoed by Breegin.

“Huh. Neat,” Fieff said, holding up his hands and wiggling his luminous fingers. “Hi guys!”

Grierseer took in the sight of Fieff’s ghost and burst into tears.

“Aw, fuck—no, no crying, don’t do that,” Fieff said, blinking out of sight and then reappearing next to Grierseer, crouching down to put his arms around her. “No, tears are bad, you aren’t allowed to cry at me unless I get to cry, too! And fuck, I don’t think I can actually _do_ that, so, y’know. Stop now?”

“Asshole!” Grierseer shouted, and swatted ineffectively at the ghost. “Complete asshole! You weren’t supposed to die to save me!”

“Well, it’s sort of in the job description,” Fieff said, awkwardly patting Grierseer on the head. The assembled Councilors were more or less collectively staring at Fieff, with varying expressions of shock, interest, delight, or all three.

Venge glanced to his right to find Qui-Gon looking back at him. He let his lips pull back in a smirk: _Do you think I’ve made my point?_

Qui-Gon raised both eyebrows and tilted his head. _By pounding it in with a hammer._

MonMassa recovered first, but she was used to odd happenings due to her office. “I’m sorry, Colm,” she said, sounding grieved.

Fieff shrugged as Grierseer regained control of herself. “Not your fault.”

“Yes, actually. It _is_ my responsibility,” MonMassa replied, narrowing her eyes. “If what he said of Rygel Wyr is true, and not the ravings of the insane, then Yuri Dravaco had the potential to cause death and destruction for ten blasted years, and not a one of us suspected a damned thing.”

Tiin shook his head. “It saddens me that an accomplished Jedi Master could succumb to Darkness so easily.”

“Dravaco murdered a woman for sleeping with another man _after_ their relationship had ended.” Venge scowled at the Iktotchi Master. “Our definitions of ‘accomplished Jedi Master’ do not align.”

Tiin glared back. “You are not necessarily in a position to say what does, or does not, comprise a skilled Jedi Master.”

Venge made a point of turning his head, dismissal of the comment in every line of his body. Some comments were simply not worth responding to.

It did amuse him to no end that every Jedi in the room was now trying to pretend that Fieff’s appearance was normal—as if they conversed with Force ghosts every day. _If only_ , Venge thought. It would be so much easier to kick the lot of them forward into learning what they would need to survive.

“And a necessary lesson for a Jedi Master, discorporation is?”

Venge looked down at Yoda, who was gazing back, serene and radiating mischief. “Necessary? No, not really,” Venge answered, uncertain that he trusted the troll’s motives. “However, the ability to discorporate may one day be the only thing that keeps a Shadow’s soul intact when faced with the true depth of what Sidious can do.”

“Why is that, Obi-Wan?” Adi asked. Her gaze was serious, but her eyes kept flickering over to Fieff, who remained sitting next to Grierseer—for certain definitions of sitting, anyway, considering one of his legs was partially merged with the floor.

Venge felt a brief flare of irritation that every single damned Jedi in the room refused to use his fucking name, then shoved the feeling behind one of his shield sets. It was a valid question, useful for making his point. “Intentional discorporation gives one a modicum of protection against any attempts Sidious might make to trap or otherwise harm your spirit. It is not…infallible, but discorporation means that you are taking control of your own agency. That recognition of self is an invaluable weapon.”

“Can it be done at any time, or is imminent death necessary?” Mace asked.

Venge rested his hands upon his knees, feeling the echo of something he had done long ago. “You know the answer to that question already, having witnessed the result.”

Mace seemed puzzled by the statement before memory returned. “Force,” he muttered, as those who had participated in the Sharing began to realize what Venge referred to. The incident aboard the _Tantive IV_ was not one of his finer moments.

“I suppose that would be an option if you ever needed to incapacitate yourself,” Venge said in a thoughtful voice. “For those of you who are fortunate enough not to know what I am speaking of: An attempt at discorporation that is not accompanied by death will not be successful. I do not recommend it. It fucking hurts.”

“It really disturbs me how many of your learning experiences are centered around insanity,” Qui-Gon said, which made Venge smile.

“Do not discorporate prematurely. Understood,” Fa’an said, though she still seemed intrigued. “Can you discorporate while suffering from Fire?”

Venge lifted his head, eyes widening. “That—dammit, that never even occurred to me. Thank you _very_ fucking much for that.”

“Why?” Skaalka tilted her head, puzzled. “What is problem?”

“In my experience, Sith do not discorporate upon dying so much as…” Venge lifted his hands into the air and mimed something blowing apart.

“He means explode,” Anakin said in a conversational tone. “It’s ’cause Sith are usually channeling a hell of a lot of energy at any given time. If the physical fails…well. That stuff’s gotta go somewhere.”

“Exploding is not an option,” Qui-Gon said in a flat voice.

“Quite.” It was not a favorable end, to be certain.

“I feel it is almost inappropriate to ask this question, now, given Fieff’s…presence.” MonMassa sighed. “Kenobi, why did you kill Dravaco?”

Venge stared at her, nonplussed. “I—I’m sorry, I believe I expected a question that is not _stupid._ ”

“Obi-Wan—” Adi began, but he was in no mood to be placated.

“No,” Venge hissed, feeling Fire increase its burn in response to his anger. “I warned all thirty Shadows upon our very first meeting. If a Shadow slipped so far as to kill friends and allies, I would fucking well make sure it was the last action they performed. Dravaco murdered four Jedi and attempted to murder two more.”

“He could have been confined, at least,” Micah suggested.

“Like Fareesi?” Venge paused to collect himself, keeping the scorn from his voice when he spoke again. “Master Fareesi did his best not to harm anyone, even when Fire was driving him swiftly to madness. I do not consider the situation to be the same.”

“Noted.” MonMassa’s tone implied that she did not agree with Venge’s actions, but at least understood his reasons. “Fieff, I am making you an official part of this briefing. Did you witness Healer Su’um-Va’s death?”

Fieff grimaced. “Yeah. I don’t even think Dravaco realized who he was killing. He was just reacting to perceived threats. This is…this is probably horrible to say, but Su’um-Va going down was what kept the rest of the Shadows from walking right into the bastard’s lightsaber. Kenobi is right about that—what Dravaco was broadcasting was so damned thick and nasty that perceptions were being affected, at least in terms of identifying the origination point of that shit.”

Venge rubbed his fingers along his sternum, feeling a dull ache. It was nice to receive validation from the dead.

“No, but Su’um-Va still placed himself in a position to be vulnerable, and now we have two dead Mind Healers,” Mace said, his voice bitter. Venge suspected his reaction revolved around his one-time relationship with Ra’um-Ve.

“Suva—I mean, Su’um-Va said that he was trying to do his job,” Tachi said, and then shrugged at the attention her words earned. “What? Fieff’s not the first Force ghost I’ve seen this week.”

Micah chuckled. “We live in interesting times, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Skae was cursing Tahl, not us.”

“Well, he missed.”

Venge flinched at the unexpected flare of jealousy. _Stop that, damn you,_ he thought, the pain in his chest getting stronger. Possibly it meant that he needed time away from everyone, but Fire had never bothered him this way. Fuck, but he did not need a new problem.

“Now we get to the moment I wish to hear more about,” Mace said, which would have warned him even if the order of events were not apparent. “We need to know how you can justify using a Force Storm, Obi-Wan.”

“Justify?” Venge gave the Councilor a narrow-eyed look. “That was not an intentional creation. That was an accident.”

“Reassuring, that is not,” Yoda murmured.

“It was only accidental in the sense that until it happened, I did not know how to actually make one, despite several previous attempts,” Venge clarified, sensing that he was making certain members of the Reconciliation Council nervous.

“You’ve said that Sidious can use these created wormholes to travel,” Plo Koon said. “Would you be capable of doing the same?”

Venge was disturbed by the very idea. “I am in no hurry to throw myself into the middle of a _Force Storm._ Either way, there will be no more accidents of that nature. It would now need to be an intentional invocation.”

“Still not reassuring,” Adi said, but her words were light and teasing, not condemnation. Venge nodded at her, and then plastered his hand to his chest when the pain ramped up to sharp, stabbing levels.

“Obi-Wan?” Abella called.

Venge turned his head to look at her. “I don’t know,” he said, his distress audible. His eyes flickered over to Qui-Gon, who looked torn—wanting to help, unsure if it would be necessary, or appreciated.

“I don’t know,” Venge repeated, biting his lip against the pain as he tracked the source. “It’s not…” _Fuck_ , he thought in sudden realization _._ “It is not me.”

Venge stood up, turned, grabbed both Padawans by their shoulders and got them the hell away from the center of the circle. Satisfied they were out of immediate danger, he whirled around. The Shadows had taken his action as the warning it was meant to be, encouraging Councilors to back up when it seemed they weren’t moving quickly enough.

There was a sickly green light hovering above the floor where the circle’s center had been. Venge watched it, entranced, as it grew larger. “Fieff. You should leave.”

“Fuck,” Fieff whispered, and vanished.

Qui-Gon was a close presence at Venge’s side. “What’s going on?”

“We are about to have a visitor,” Venge said, his words carrying across the cathedral despite the flurry of movement.

[Who? And _how?_ ] Rillian howled, looking at the growing green orb in dismay.

Venge rested his hand on his chest again. He hadn’t quite realized that sort of connection would exist, but in hindsight, it made sense. “That is a dead Sith Lord using the Chamber of Trial as a conduit.”

Vos swore; Tholme did not look pleased. “They can do that?” he asked, palming his lightsaber but not igniting it. Venge applauded Tholme’s protective instincts even as he derided them. Lightsabers were not useful against _ghosts._

“Apparently.” Venge tilted his head, watching as the light grew from orb to form, looking more and more like a humanoid figure.

“You did not know this was possible?” Tiin asked, suspicion etched on his features.

“No. Shut up,” Venge said, watching as the humanoid figure grew to a supernatural height of more than five meters tall. Color seeped into place, revealing it as a male: dark-haired, dark-skinned, with protrusions around his eyes and what appeared to be tentacles lining his jaw. Interesting.

“That is a pureblood of the Sith species, I believe.” MonMassa was regarding the figure with distaste. “A friend of yours, Kenobi?”

Venge turned his head and gave MonMassa a look of exaggerated disbelief.

MonMassa was unapologetic. “It had to be asked.”

“He sure does like to look down on people, doesn’t he?” Tachi asked, glaring at the specter.

“He does seem to feel the need to appear unnaturally terrifying,” Fa’an commented, unimpressed.

Venge reserved the right to be proud of his Shadows, if Fire ever let him be. Complete indifference to such displays often irritated the old Sith, who were used to inspiring fear with every word and breath.

Not that this one had need to breathe any longer.

The Jedi in the room formed a new circle, with the spirit at its center, but the Sith ignored them in favor of staring down at Venge. When he spoke, his voice echoed and rebounded in the chamber in ways that were not naturally possible. “Lord Venge.”

The identification came to him in the next heartbeat. “Vowrawn.” Venge stepped forward, gesturing with his hand for Qui-Gon to remain in place. If Vowrawn focused on him, then there was less potential of harm coming to anyone else. As it was, Venge was far too aware of wary, watching eyes. He had no idea what the other Jedi would think of this display, but could not allow his attention to be distracted from their unwanted guest.

Vowrawn smiled at him. The expression grated on Venge’s nerves. “You do not offer me my title?”

Venge snorted. “You came here uninvited and unannounced. I am under no obligation to offer you anything.” He looked the Sith up and down in open, deliberate contempt. “Knock it the hell off. You are not actually that fucking tall.”

Vowrawn seemed taken aback by Venge’s bluntness, but it was only a fleeting moment before his condescending, mocking smile reappeared. “Very well.” His form shrank until it was life-size, only a few centimeters taller than Venge. “You would be Sidious’s rival, then.”

It was hard not to grimace at the thought. “At least you did not say heir.”

“Are you not also that, as well?” Vowrawn asked in a light voice.

 _Shield well, right now,_ Venge sent to Qui-Gon, approving when his Lifemate did so without protest or delay. He took down the compartmentalization he’d created earlier, meant to carry him through a Council meeting without inciting Jedi to cut him down where he stood. Rage and hatred uncurled and leapt outward to play, almost unrestricted but for the final few barriers he kept in place against Fire. Behind him, Anakin hissed in a startled breath, and Rillian emitted a low growl.

“No. I am not.”

“Interesting.” Vowrawn drifted closer. Venge lifted his chin in response but refused to give ground. “I have wanted to meet you from the moment Darth Zannah came to me with questions about Fire. I know from experience how hard it can be to battle the toxin, and I suffered only a single dose. But you…you burn with an intensity that refuses to be quenched. How is it you have endured this long without breaking?”

Venge stared at the Sith. “Because I refuse to do so.”

Vowrawn failed to hide his surprise at the answer. “You are lying.”

“No.”

“Oh, that is _fascinating._ ” Vowrawn’s voice was like the rustling of nesting serpents. “You could easily be the greatest of us, and yet you surround yourself with weak and spineless Jedi.”

Venge flicked his fingers, swatting the glowing Sith with the same harsh metaphysical strike that he had given to Dravaco’s spirit. Vowrawn’s form flickered, his features contorting into a pained grimace. “Do _not_ insult my family.”

Vowrawn had lost his mocking smile. Now he looked wary. “I was warned, and still I underestimated you. I will not do so again.”

“How very nice to know,” Venge replied in a pleasant tone. “Go the fuck away.”

“No. I have not yet learned what I came to find out.” Vowrawn puffed himself up again, as if size would make a difference. “The spirits of Korriban are restless, Lord Venge. It has been a thousand years since there has been more than one Master of the Sith. The time has come for us to determine with whom we shall ally ourselves.”

Venge stared at the ghost in complete disbelief before he burst out laughing.

“You would be so quick to reject such an alliance?” Vowrawn asked, angered.

“Your restless brethren will have to find someone else to ally themselves behind.” Venge shook his head, mirth vanishing as if it had never been. “I am not like you. Our goals do not align.”

Vowrawn was not impressed. “Since when does a Sith concern himself with the doings of Jedi?”

Venge gave the Sith a flat look. If the idiot had spoken with Zannah, he full well knew the answer to that question. “One does so when one is both.”

It was obvious that the Vowrawn disapproved. “You should not be anything other than what you are.”

Venge lost his temper. “I don’t want anything to do with you!” he shouted. “I want the entire damned lot of you to leave me the fuck alone!”

“You may come to regret that choice.” Vowrawn’s expression became calculating. “What of the other Sith in this room? Would he be willing to accept our offer?”

“Other Sith?” Venge repeated in an innocuous tone.

“That one.” Vowrawn gestured at Anakin. “The one that is called Vader.”

Venge felt Fire roar up, so thick his throat felt clogged with it. Vowrawn had committed a singular error, and there would be fucking consequences. He clenched his right hand into a fist, searching for lines of connection without even blinking his eyes.

Despite his anger, Venge’s words were still even, measured, when he spoke. “Anakin? Why don’t you tell him what you think of his offer?”

“Okay, for one? Vader’s dead.” Anakin’s voice was sharp, and very adult. “Second, I’m with my Master on this one. You should seriously fuck the hell off.”

Vowrawn’s eyes flashed with rage. “Young fools! You turn down power and strength—what are you doing?” he hissed, his attention refocused on Venge.

Venge stared at the Sith. “Mocking certain vulnerabilities.”

“Tell me!” Vowrawn shouted. “What is it you are—” and then the Sith’s projection lost half of its strength. Rage swiftly became undisguised terror. “What have you done?”

“Oh. That.” Venge smiled. “I destroyed your anchor point on Korriban while you were busy grandstanding. It was kind of you to leave an easy trail to follow.”

“You cannot do that.”

“Already did it,” Venge said in a bored voice. “You were supposed to be smarter than this. I am almost disappointed.”

“You fool!” Vowrawn shouted. He grew in height, voice booming. Despite the display, he was less than before, a transparent shade with only a wash of color to highlight features and clothing. “I have existed for four thousand years! Your paltry destruction—”

“You should have left my Padawan out of this.” Rage has been replaced by ice. He could see hints of the ice patterns out of the corner of his eye, and his breath was billowing steam. “Do you fear death, Vowrawn?”

Vowrawn was hiding fear with useless bluster. “This will not end me. I have a second anchor point.”

Venge grinned at him, feeling a manic cheer that was entirely at odds with Fire. “Good luck finding it,” he said, and tore apart the weave that had built the Chamber of Trial.

The ancient Sith shouted—in anger or pain, perhaps both—before he vanished.

“What did you do?” Vos asked.

Venge was still staring at the place where the Sith had been. He was in no mood to meet the eyes of others, or even interact beyond simple exchanges of words. “I pulled the threads that created the Chamber. It is once again an unpleasant room, nothing more.”

He felt an unexpected warmth on his lip and brushed his hand across his face, surprised when his fingers came away bloody. “Fuck.”

“Are you all right?” It was Adi who asked first, strangely enough. Or perhaps Qui-Gon knew that it was a pointless question at this juncture.

“Fine,” Venge answered gruffly, though it was less than honest. He sniffed back blood that refused to stop flowing.

Abella walked up to him, shaking her head in irritation. “You are an idiot,” she said, and shoved a thick wad of bandages at him. “Tilt your head forward,” she ordered him, as he pressed the cloth under his nose. “This is _basic_ self-care, and you are failing at it.”

Venge glared at her while trying to ignore the fact that he was soaking through the damned bandages in a horrifyingly short amount of time. “It gives you something to do aside from Bothans.”

Abella’s eyes widened just before she launched into a high-pitched, fierce and foul litany of Chitanook invectives that called several things into question, including his biology, parentage, and grooming habits. She only stopped when she realized Tachi was bent over laughing and Venge was grinning at her, sharp and pleased.

“Well-played,” Abella grumbled, straightening her tunics. “And tilt your head forward!” Venge rolled his eyes and did so.

“That did break up the shock of, ‘Holy fuck, dead Sith’ very nicely,” Micah said. “Also: Holy fuck.”

“Yeah, that was pretty much the textbook definition of terrible,” Vos added.

“Saesee, what the hell are you grinning about?” Tholme asked. Venge turned his head until he could see the Iktotchi Master, who was, indeed, grinning in a way that showed off all of his teeth.

“Our friend,” Saesee gestured towards Venge, which made Venge frown, “already knows this, but I assumed Yarael’s role on the Reconciliation Council, that of prodding, searching for weaknesses that could be exploited in the wrong moment.”

“Huh,” Anakin said. “That does explain Master Yarael’s incessant poking.”

“Quite,” Saesee agreed. “Since Kenobi’s rather colorful response during his first meeting with the Reconciliation Council, MonMassa and I have been wondering what his response would be to an _enemy_ making perceived threats towards his student.” Saesee managed to dim the grin down to a pleased smile. “I am quite satisfied.”

“Granted, I didn’t expect razing everything to the ground and salting the earth as his policy, but it does seem to be effective,” Master MonMassa admitted with a wry smile.

“Oh, I’m sure we all understand _why_ he did it,” Mace said in a disapproving voice. “I am still concerned about _how._ ”

Venge lowered the saturated cloth, relieved to find he had more or less stopped bleeding. He tucked it away in his robe sleeve, out of sight, before its soaked nature could be commented upon. “I did it because I wanted to,” he said. “And upon reflection, I realize that it was a very stupid thing to do.”

“It certainly did your health no favors at all.” Kurri was eying him in a way that suggested he had not been as quick to hide the wad of bandages as he’d hoped.

“Not that,” Venge said, though she was correct. His head was starting to ache in a way that suggested Fire rising up, or perhaps the need to pass out. It was getting hard to tell, lately. “The old Sith, before Bane’s Rule of Two—they followed the most powerful among them, the ones who inspired the most fear.” He sighed and rubbed hard at the space between his eyebrows. “I just wrecked a very, very large Sith monument from several thousand lightyears away.”

Breegin snickered. “They are going to be thrilled to bits about you, because Kenobi? You _are_ the scariest bastard in the quadrant.”

Venge glared at the Ho’Din. “That is not helping,” he said, and then almost went slack-jawed as the realization struck. “Oh, fuck. I cannot _believe_ those words came out of my mouth.”

“What words?” Skaalka wanted to know.

“Oh, some very particular words,” Adi said, a mischievous smile on her face. “I was hoping we would get to talk about them.”

“Fuck you; we are _not,_ ” Venge growled.

Anakin started cackling. “Hah! It’s not me this time!”

Venge gave up. “Oh, fuck you,” he said, as Anakin bent over double, almost howling with laughter. “I’m serious. Fuck you. In the face. With a laser drill.” Anakin was not deterred in the slightest. “I hope that other damned prophecy is about you!”

“That’s mean.” Tachi snickered. “You don’t just throw that sort of curse around, Kenobi.”

Venge ground his teeth together, incensed, and looked at Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon, at least, had the good sense to maintain a neutral expression. However, he did not provide respite. “They were your words, love,” Qui-Gon said quietly.

“Dammit!”

Kurri banged her staff on the floor, creating a metallic echo that grated on Venge’s ears. “Excuse me. Would someone please inform the few of us who are out of the loop: What are you all speaking of?”

“The Prophecy of the Chosen One,” Yaddle pronounced.

 _“There is one who is Light, and there is one who is Dark. The Light and the Dark shall make the One, and the Force will be Balanced_ ,” Master Adi quoted in a reverent voice.

“I hate you all,” Venge muttered in resignation.

“Sith and Jedi,” Plo Koon said. “That fits the qualifications, does it not?”

 _With terrible implications,_ Venge thought, before he realized that his tolerance for other beings was gone. Vowrawn had destroyed most of his patience, and this damned prophecy revelation—his own fucking fault, no less—had obliterated the rest.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, wrapping himself in the Force before he hid from sight. He retreated from the cathedral unmolested, though Mace looked thwarted by his disappearance.

It was the long, mournful howl that chilled him. Rillian was voicing sympathy when so many others were thinking only of possibility, and it felt entirely out of place.

Fuck. He needed to be alone, and have something approaching a total damned meltdown.

Venge stumbled through the doorway, letting himself reappear once he was safe behind the built-in shielding. He slid down in a corner of the bedroom, rested his head against the wall, and blanked out.

Awareness came back in fits and starts. There was a hand on his cheek that felt like cool relief against his skin.

Vision slowly flickered back in. He could see the blurred shapes of people, but not identify them. Severe disorientation kept him from panic.

Sound came next. He heard noises, unintelligible jumbles.

Sensation helped ground him. His focus sharpened into recognition. Words began to make sense.

He could see Abella, and Depa Billaba. Qui-Gon was the one touching him, his voice speaking. “Obi-Wan.”

“No,” he tried to say, but his pronunciation was limited to an inelegant, “Nnnngh.”

“It’s all right,” Qui-Gon murmured, as Venge struggled against crippling relief and severe disappointment. Two seizures in two days. That was not fucking all right at all.

Venge lifted his head, wincing at the stiff pain in his neck. “How long?” he asked, swallowing against the dryness in his mouth and the rasp in his voice.

“About the same, but longer recovery time,” Abella told him. “I know it seems dire, but these seizures have both occurred after intense stress. I’d really like it if you’d try to _avoid_ stressful situations for a while.”

“That would be…nice,” he whispered, and closed his eyes.

He woke up some unknown time later to find that Qui-Gon, Depa, and Abella were gone, and others were in their place. Anakin and Rillian sat nearby, just beyond touching distance, bent over datapads. Anakin had the sort of frown on his face that usually meant spatial mathematics.

He faded in and out of consciousness as the night cycle progressed. He’d reached too far, pulled too much, to destroy Vowrawn’s tomb. Not even Fire could overcome this exhaustion.

When Venge next awoke, Yoda had replaced the Padawans. The ancient Master was sitting in meditative posture, eyes closed…but his ears were up and alert. Appearance only, not meditation in truth.

“Why are you here?” He knew he sounded combative and didn’t care.

“Watching over you, I am,” Yoda said, opening his eyes. “Worried, we are.”

 _I am certain you are_ , Venge thought bitterly.

He had almost drifted out again when Yoda said, “Like me, you do not.”

“Yes, I do,” Venge said. “And I also do not.”

“Why?” Yoda’s gaze was curious, and perhaps a bit sad. Venge might have been imagining things—fuck, he considered it quite possible that he was hallucinating this entire encounter.

He was too tired to obfuscate. If Yoda wanted truth, he was going to get it. “In the only memory I have of you, you are locking me up in a fucking box.”

Yoda’s ears lowered, and he huffed out a sigh. “Do that now, I would not.”

“Why?” Venge mimicked.

“Love us, you do,” Yoda said.

Venge glowered at him, enraged by the implication. The troll was fortunate that Venge was uninterested in moving. “I loved you then, as well.”

Yoda nodded. “Sorry, I am.”

Venge turned his head away. He was not mistaking the Master’s sadness; it was more prominent now than ever. “That is part of the problem. It was not…not actually you. It was…” he trailed off, unable to verbalize what he meant. The trouble with this re-entry into his own life meant that his personal timeline was entirely fucked up.

He fell asleep again without meaning to. He opened his eyes to find Qui-Gon sitting at his side, close enough to share warmth but not quite touching. He was actively meditating, whereas Yoda had been faking it.

Venge shifted his weight until he could rest his head against Qui-Gon’s shoulder, and closed his eyes again.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Su’um-Va’s funeral was bad enough. The comm call that Venge had arranged for, just after the pyre burned low, was substantially worse. He had almost decided against visual communication, and choosing vidscreen instead of holo-projection was even more of a risk, but dammit, he wanted to see her.

It was hard to hide his eyes—it was getting harder to place illusions over the damage Fire was causing—but he managed it for as long as it was necessary to speak with Master Kuunhra. Then Jeila Vin slid into the chair in front of the screen, and the Trandoshan crèche Master was kind enough to leave them be.

Jeila’s tiny face lit up in a wide smile. “Obi!”

Venge smiled back. “Hello, tiny Padawan.” He let the illusion flicker and die. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he was also not going to lie about who and what he was. Not to any of his Padawans.

Jeila tilted her head, curious but unafraid. “Do they always glow like that?”

Force, she was speaking so much more clearly, and it had only been three months. “Most of the time.” Venge swallowed. “You are…not frightened?”

“No.” Jeila shook her head, her coral blue hair swinging back and forth. “No fear. You love us.”

“I do,” Venge agreed in a soft voice. “You will be a very wise Jedi, one day.”

Jeila’s eyes lit up. “Yep!” She reached into her hair with her hand, and pulled forth one of the most miserably put together Padawan braids he had ever witnessed. “I’m _your_ Padawan!”

Venge felt like he’d been kicked, hard. He pressed his lips together against the shock, composing himself. “Dear Jeila, you’ve rushed ahead. Now how will I gain the honor of having braided your hair first?”

“Well, I made this one,” Jeila said, with the confidence of a child’s logic. “You’ll make first _Master_ braid,” she emphasized.

Then she said, “You’re coming back.” It was not a question at all.

Venge hesitated before nodding. “That is the general idea.”

“It’s weird, though.” Jeila made a face. “It’s gonna be lots longer for you than for me.”

He felt a brief flare of hope and then quashed it. The first lesson of precognition, or any far-seeing, was that the future was always in motion. “We will have to see what happens, then.”

“’Kay,” Jeila agreed. “I hafta go to lunch. Bye, Master Obi!”

“Goodbye, tiny Padawan,” Venge replied, and cut the connection. He bowed his head, jaw clenched. That had gone both better and worse than he’d expected.

 _Gods all, listen to me: I do not want to fucking die,_ Venge thought fiercely. He was done with the self-sacrificing nonsense. He wanted his second Padawan, to see Anakin and Rillian grown and Knighted, and to spend more than just a damned year and a span of months with his Lifemate.

Venge lifted his head when he thought his control would hold. “What do you want?” he asked, turning to face his visitor.

Micah shrugged. “Well, the first of us are about to head out, so folks are gathering in the cathedral again. I thought maybe you would be happy to see us out of your hair, especially since most of them are still jabbering Prophecy shit.”

Venge tilted his head. “No, actually, I think we are still sitting at, ‘What do you want?’”

“Now I see what Qui-Gon means about cats,” Micah said, smiling. “I also thought you’d like to hear about my son.”

Venge snorted. “Which one?”

“Dammit, who told?” Micah asked, laughing.

“Garen,” Venge answered. “A long time ago, during the war. He was rather drunk at the time.” He had been, also. Their drinking binge after Tachi’s funeral had nearly given them both alcohol poisoning.

“Well, Garen is fine—well, no, my idiot Padawan got himself engaged to Reeft after Reeft was foolish enough to say yes to a Lifebonding request,” Micah said.

That was both surprise and relief. “At last, he is being sensible.”

“Tahl and I named the baby Benjjai.”

Venge stared at him in dismay. “I did not think the goal of procreation was to curse one’s children. Or are you hoping for a transition of your current curse from father to son? I have to say, that is typically not how it works.”

Micah looked miffed. “Naming my kid after you is not a curse.”

Venge gave him a look of polite tolerance. “And then, you had to go and compound the curse by attaching part of Qui-Gon’s name. That child is going to have an interesting life.”

“Now _that_ is a curse!” Micah declared. “Take it back.”

Venge smiled. He understood Micah’s true intent, even if the man had aroused predatory instincts, not pleasure. “No.”

Rillian was waiting for them in the hall outside. [Master,] she said.

“Raallandirr,” Venge returned, dipping his head. “What is it, Padawan?”

The Wookiee dithered for a moment before darting forward to hug him. Venge froze. It was getting harder to tolerate another’s touch, especially when it came as a surprise, but…but he would. She needed this.

[You smell weird,] she said after a moment, and sneezed.

“Bad?” Venge asked. It was taking quite a bit of effort to keep Rillian from noticing that his first reaction to her words was fear.

Rillian stepped back, but there was no offended expression on her face. She merely continued to wrinkle her nose. [No, not bad. Just very strong, like an electrical fire.]

“Ah. Well, I suspect I am burning myself up from the inside out, so the scent is not much of a surprise.” Venge took in the shocked, horrified look on Rillian’s face. “You…probably did not want to hear that.”

[No,] she said, in an echo of yesterday’s mournful howl. [I don’t think Master Micah did, either.]

Venge glanced between the two of them, and resolved to pay more attention to his words. If his verbal filter was failing, he had to be on his guard. “Let’s go, then,” he said.

The cathedral was fully occupied. After weeks of it holding only Venge and his Shadows, the crowd was off-putting. Venge strode forward, ignoring the blatant staring of certain Masters, and met Boda MonMassa halfway across the floor.

“Well, let’s have it, then,” MonMassa said, not bothering with any formalities.

“The Shadows are done here,” Venge replied, perhaps unnecessarily. “You have eleven successful graduates, each capable of training another set of hunters.”

MonMassa gave him a curious. “You only have ten Shadows, Kenobi.”

“It is eleven, actually,” Depa Billaba said. Venge felt an intense moment of victory, but brushed it aside. There were those present who would misunderstand the emotion.

“Are you certain, Padawan?” Mace asked. He seemed resigned to the inevitable, but also comfortable in her presence. Depa must have spoken to him the night before, or perhaps to the entire Council, since she was being granted acceptance by all, not caution, or hostility.

Depa nodded. There was a smile on her face, reminiscent of her old serenity, but no longer quite the same. To Venge, it was almost as if her eyes had never stopped burning. “I am. I think I knew the moment I stepped out of that Chamber, but it still took some time to…to come to terms with the idea that it was time for a new path.”

MonMassa nodded. “Very well, then. We will speak further on Coruscant.” Depa inclined her head at the dismissal, walking over to join Mace and Adi, the latter of whom drew her into an embrace.

“Make her your Third,” Venge said in a low voice.

The Master of Shadows glanced at him in surprise. “I had hoped you would choose to accept my offer.”

Venge let out a faint, amused laugh. “If I survive, I doubt I will ever escape your clutches, MonMassa, but I do not want that job. I will have enough responsibilities to see to, and I do not wish to drown under the weight of another. Observe Master Billaba for a few weeks, and you will see exactly what I mean.”

“You are a pain in the ass,” MonMassa said fondly, but she seemed inclined to at least consider the idea.

“There is also a bit of data transmitted along with the Healers’ latest reports.” Venge smiled. “You might find the midichlorian results to be of particular interest.”

“I will bear that in mind.” MonMassa sighed. “Anything else?”

Venge thought about it. “If there are no likely candidates for further hunters in the Shadow ranks, search among other Knights and Masters, preferably those who are not actively training Padawans. Vos can teach the next batch as soon as you procure them.”

“What?” Vos looked up from his conversation with Fa’an in surprise. “Why me?”

“Vos, you are in reserve, not actively hunting,” Venge said. “You have a Padawan who is not yet ready for any of this, and you also have a long way to go in regards to dealing with the newly-revealed source of your anger. Try to do it without assassinating Tinté Vos.”

“Balls,” Vos said in response, but it was more token protest than actual complaint.

MonMassa was nodding. “I agree. I will see you back on Coruscant, Kenobi,” she said, and held out her hand.

Venge looked down at it. Dammit, but people kept wanting to _touch him._ He steeled himself and clasped her hand, nodding once. There was no reply he could give that didn’t feel like a lie.

MonMassa retreated, and the remaining Shadows clustered around him. Most of them were returning to Coruscant on the _Polysemy_. A larger, unarmed research vessel would remain behind for the journey to Mortis. Venge was grateful for the ship’s size, even if it had not been his comfort that the Council had had in mind. Spending three days of hyperspace travel in a ship as small as Rillian’s _Malla Kazza_ would be one of the worst tortures imaginable at this point.

Venge looked at each face in turn: Ni-Dia Kurri, Brek Fa’an, Breegin Bo, Siri Tachi, Quinlan Vos, Skaalka, and Jaime Grierseer. Even Tholme had joined them, though Depa remained in Adi Gallia’s company.

They were all aware that this would be their last time together in this form, this singular group who had joined together to learn blatant insanity at his hands. Venge wanted to send them off with some sort of well-wishing, but gods, he couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound trite.

“Well, it’s been fun,” Siri spoke before he could, cracking a smile.

“Quite, yes,” Venge said. “Do try not to get yourselves killed immediately.” There; that fit the tone of the past two months. “When you see them next, you may pass the same message on to Gyre, Herssella, and Greegor.”

“Such confidence you inspire in us,” Kurri drawled.

“I’m going to miss you kicking our asses across the entire Cathedral and back,” Fa’an said with a faint smile.

“Want spar again soon.” Skaalka gave him half-bow, standing in place. “When you less broken. My job to break!”

“Gods, but we really are all completely insane,” Grierseer said, amused.

Breegin grinned. “Yes, but we’re honest about it.”

Vos shrugged. “That probably means we require warning labels, but I don’t have the time—”

“Or the skill,” Tholme interjected.

“—to make one,” Vos finished. “And he’s right. I don’t really make things, I just break them.”

Venge nodded. He had nothing more to offer them, save one last thing. “May the Force be with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Re-Entry is going on a 2-3 week hiatus for my own sanity. I ate through my fic backlog and right now have *nothing* prepped for next week. I also have an assload of painting and other college things to catch up on.
> 
> Check for an update on the 24th; otherwise, I'll see you all on Halloween. *appropriate cackle*

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hope The Future Changes : Not The Clone Wars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2533541) by [Mischieffoal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mischieffoal/pseuds/Mischieffoal)
  * [Times of Change](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2656637) by [KittenFair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenFair/pseuds/KittenFair)




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